Chapter 16 #3
“The stone walls that ought to keep pastures and arable ground separate are crumbling, or being cannibalized for new buildings. I’ve seen no new construction anywhere in the neighborhood, hence I suspect the stones are being sold.”
Carstairs winced. “Quarried stone is costly. Those walls are worth coin.”
“The footbridge to Lady Clotilda’s property has needed replacement for ages.
The hunters in the stable are all a hundred pounds below a sporting weight, and the season is only half gone.
Lady Clotilda finances the annual fete, which the baron ought never to countenance, but he can hardly gainsay her. ”
“Those two.”
“Lady Clotilda does not sell her forest to the baron because he has stopped offering to buy it. He cannot afford to pay her what it’s worth, and he will not insult her by offering a lesser sum.”
“One senses Papa bungled his courtship of Lady Clo.”
“‘Bungled’ being a euphemism for having bumbled the whole undertaking from the opening salvos to the last cavalry charge. He set her aside for your mother, who had the larger dowry, and he’s been trying to atone for that insult since he ceased observing mourning for his baroness.”
Carstairs held a branch back until Atlas and I had passed. “Old business. Sad old business, if what you say is true. Nobody has mentioned troubled finances to me.”
Nor had Carstairs himself raised the topic, for which one could hardly blame him.
“You are a sharpshooter. Your eyesight is legendarily keen, and you see what others have been trying hard to ignore. The armory walls are less crowded than they were five years ago. The retainers at the Keep, and especially in the stable yard, are aging to the point that some should have been pensioned since you bought your colors, but no pensions have been offered. I could go on.”
“Please do not. Every large holding has its ups and downs.”
“Algernon has probably told himself that very same thing. Over and over, but he doesn’t believe it, and neither should you.”
“Algernon? He lacks the authority to manage anything other than his allowance.”
How could a sharpshooter be so blind? “Your father’s hearing and eyesight are failing.
He no longer leads the first flight. His mind appears quite spry, though, and that is probably why he’s turned the estate books over to Algernon.
He wants his successor to step into the role while the incumbent is still on hand to provide guidance.
Algernon, however, is temperamentally unsuited for the job and knows it. ”
“Algernon is nobody’s fool. He plays the gallant and the fribble, but he’s not the decorative swain you might think he is.”
Blind loyalty was a quality prized in soldiers, but only up to a point. “Algernon is drowning, and unless you throw him a rope and haul him out, he will drag the Keep, your future, and the succession under the ice with him.”
We emerged at the summit of the hill, rural Hampshire in its winter plumage before us.
The early morning sun turned the countryside into a patchwork of long shadows at the hedgerows, brilliant snowy expanses across the fields, and little plumes of white from the occasional chimney.
The shire was waking up, but would the Carstairs family wake up along with them, or continue sleepwalking on an icy bridge over dangerous rapids?
“What do you want of me?” Carstairs asked, his breath clouding before him.
“I will not overstay my welcome here, Caldicott. I don’t see anything to be gained.
I can offer Algernon a loan. I can sell my little estate and put the proceeds toward the Keep’s debts if they are as extensive as you claim. ”
“Very generous of you, but what the Keep needs is you, here, lending your capabilities instead of your cash.”
Carstairs knuckled his eyes with his glove.
“Damned wind. Puts me in mind of Spain. Nothing would please me more, Caldicott, than to take my place here and be of every assistance to my family and neighbors, but in case you have forgotten the reason for this visit, great harm is likely to result from violating my orders.”
“Great harm is resulting from those orders, and I am increasingly convinced they are issued in ignorance.”
Carstairs stretched up in his stirrups, patted the horse, and turned the beast back toward the trees in the manner of a man unwilling to prolong a good-bye.
“You are increasingly convinced,” he said, “but not certain. When you are certain, and you have an explanation to offer supported by evidence, please let me know. I have packing to do and farewells to make. Peter and Robin’s little darlings hardly know who I am.”
That bothered him, and it bothered me as well.
“I have theories, Carstairs, and they explain the rest of your situation. The debt is part of it, revenge is part of it, and pride is an enormous part of it. Please allow me to put this last day to as much use as I can. You can write letters of apology to every quarter if I’m wrong, but the biggest apology is owed to you. I’d like to see that you get it.”
“I don’t want an apology. The truth would be appreciated. I am loath to offer offense on the strength of your theories, though. This is my family, Caldicott, my loved ones. People who knew me when I was a squalling infant and who I hope will still claim my acquaintance for decades to come.”
His entire world centered on the Keep, and he’d been forced to keep his distance from it.
“People worth fighting for, then.” I took a list from my pocket. “Have this group assembled for tea an hour before sunset. They’ll have had naps by then and be over the worst of their sore heads and aching feet. Invite them to the Keep. Send coaches around to collect them if you must.”
“This is a dozen people, Caldicott, give or take. They haven’t all been sending me threatening letters.”
“They have all played a role in what’s afoot here. Some of them deserve apologies too.”
He put the list in his pocket. “Provided your theories are correct.”
“If you truly want to come home, you will give me this one chance to test those theories. If you’d rather check empty snares in Surrey for the rest of your days, I’ll pack up and leave with you.”
“Surrey isn’t awful.”
“Surrey is not your home. A sharpshooter equivocating is a sad spectacle, Carstairs. In my brother’s absence, I have been managing Caldicott Hall, which is as formidable an estate as the Keep.
I promise you on your sainted brother Michael’s memory that you will regret blowing retreat now more than you could possibly regret marching onward toward some answers. The Keep needs you, desperately.”
I could have maundered on about antique bachelors and old maids, the succession collapsing, the crown selling the estate to a half-dozen ambitious cits wanting to build country retreats, but Carstairs was weary and sad enough.
The decision was his. I tipped my hat and left him at the brook that separated the Keep from Lady Clotilda’s wilderness. I would do some napping myself in the coming hours—and a considerable amount of pondering as well.